Page 6

Chapter 6

Liam

I ’m pretty fucking sure Claire and Lizzy are doing their damnedest to give me a migraine-induced embolism.

I knew Claire wasn’t going to come easy.

I know her too well for that, even if she doesn’t realize it.

I expected some demands and already had her favorite coffee in hand when I knocked on her door.

I had to stop from grinning when she couldn’t resist accepting it by the time we made it to the elevator.

To my surprise, she hadn’t called her parents.

Maybe she still thought she could get out of this?

Too fuckin’ bad for her.

Now that I’ve got her, I’m not giving her up.

I should have known she called someone, though.

I’d just hoped it wasn’t the spitfire best friend.

“I seriously can’t believe you’re being kidnapped and dragged to the altar,” Lizzy says for the fourth time, this time practically shouting.

She’s talking right to the back of my head.

The moment I pulled up to the sidewalk to pick her up, Claire had moved to the backseat.

I picked my battles.

“This is some real fucked up shit. And you.” She stabs a finger in my direction like she’s ready to banish me to hell with a gaze alone.

“You think this makes you some kind of tragic, brooding anti-hero? Because newsflash, O’Reilly, this isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not smoldering your way into forgiveness by being hot and high-handed.”

Claire lets out an indelicate snort beside her, and I swear, my eye twitches.

I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised the steering wheel hasn’t cracked under the pressure of my grip.

“I could leave you both on the side of the damn road,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You wouldn’t,” Claire says sweetly from the back.

“Because then you’d miss the chance to use your dramatic ‘get out of the car, princess’ line once we arrive.”

Lizzy laughs, leaning slightly to the side to grin at Claire.

“You know, this is starting to resemble a hostage situation where the kidnap victim is the only one showing mercy.”

“Mercy?” I mutter.

“What else would you call it?” Claire deadpans.

“I haven’t stabbed you yet.”

I breathe slowly through my nose, counting the seconds so I don’t lose complete control.

The fact that I don’t snap back immediately says more about how fucking twisted I am over Claire than it does about restraint.

The car rounds the final curve, the trees thinning out to reveal the looming silhouette of the O’Reilly estate.

Lizzy’s reaction is swift and unwelcome.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, sitting upright and staring out the window.

“Is that a freaking castle?”

“It’s a manor,” I answer, voice even.

“No, that’s a mansion with a god complex,” she says, flinging an arm out toward Claire like she’s discovered buried treasure.

“Claire, your blackmailing psycho-fiancé is loaded. You better make him pay through the nose for emotional labor.”

Claire smirks but doesn’t speak.

“You know, you could always just take a lover on the side,” Lizzy adds with a glimmer in her eye, “I’m sure there are plenty of good looking options.”

That does it.

I slam the car into park right in front of the house and twist in my seat.

My stare pins both women with the weight of a threat barely caged.

“If anyone, and I mean anyone, so much as touches Claire,” I say, my voice low and vibrating with the weight of every promise I intend to keep, “they’ll die with my teeth at their throat.”

Claire stiffens, but her gaze finds mine in the rearview mirror, unreadable.

Lizzy, clearly never one to back down from a fight, lifts her brows.

“How chivalrous. But really, are you going to give that same speech before each of your mafia mistresses crawl into your bed? Or is that privilege reserved just for Claire?”

I narrow my eyes, lips curling into something that’s more declaration than confession.

“There will be no mistresses. Ever. The only woman I’ll touch until the day I die is Claire. If she doesn’t want me, then I’ll die celibate. Better that than break a vow I swear.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Even Lizzy’s sharp tongue falters.

I break the stare and push the door open, stepping out into the sunlight, as cold as ever.

Claire climbs out second, slower, but her expression’s shielded.

My mother, Fiona, is already through the open doors, hurrying to greet us.

“Claire,” she says warmly, stepping forward with open arms.

“Welcome, sweetheart. Oh, how you’ve grown.”

Claire stiffens, caught off guard by the embrace, but after a brief hesitation, she hugs her back.

I notice the way her fingers touch the back of her neck as they separate, as if grounding herself in the moment.

Beside her, Lizzy shifts, just enough to signal her readiness to make a snide remark or throw a punch, depending on what’s needed.

Claire glances between them, then clears her throat.

“Mrs. O’Reilly, this is my best friend, Lizzy. I insisted she be here,” she says with a small lift of her chin.

“I know it’s been some time, but you know you can call me Fiona.” Fiona’s gaze shifts to Lizzy, curiosity sparking behind her eyes.

She offers her hand without hesitation.

“Of course. Any friend of Claire’s is welcome in this house. Especially on your wedding day.”

Lizzy, to her credit, clasps her hand with only a flicker of wariness and a crisp, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

My mother’s smile grows, a genuine gleam behind it.

“Oh, please. Call me Fiona, too. You’ve got fire in your eyes. That’ll serve you well here.”

Claire leans closer to Lizzy, whispering just loud enough for me to catch, “I think she likes you.”

Lizzy tightens her lips to suppress a grin.

“I think I’m terrified.”

I barely suppress a smirk.

We make it as far as the grand foyer, warm light spilling across the dark marble floors and up over the curved staircase.

The ancestral portraits hang solemnly on the walls, and Claire’s steps falter for just a second as if she suddenly feels the weight of all the eyes watching her from frames steeped in age and judgment.

Hundreds of years of O’Reilly pride, violence, and tradition stare down at her from varnished wood and oil paint.

These werewolves may have traded the pelt for the pen, but the menace in their gazes wraps around us like a shroud.

Claire doesn’t flinch, but her posture straightens.

Chin high.

Jaw set.

She’s facing her future pack here, including every ancestor who growled, clawed, and killed to keep this bloodline wrapped around Savannah’s throat.

My mother glides forward, gesturing to a wide staircase spiraling to the left.

“We’ve set up your suite, Claire. You’ll have everything you need for the ceremony. Your dress should be arriving shortly. Lizzy,” she glances toward the fire-spitter best friend, “we’ll prepare a room for you just across the hall, if you’d prefer to stay the night.”

Lizzy crosses her arms, skeptical.

“Generous for someone who assumes I won’t object to the marriage.”

My mother isn’t offended.

Instead, she smiles.

“Oh, I definitely like you.”

My phone buzzes harshly in my pocket and when I see Conner’s name on the screen, I know it can only mean one thing.

I step away and answer with a sharp, “Talk.”

His voice is clipped, low.

“We’ve picked up the two men responsible for the attack on your father. We’ve got them ready for questioning. Shit timing with the wedding tonight, but we have to act fast if we’re going to finally get what we need to pin this on Ronan.”

“Fuck,” I whisper, rubbing a hand down my face.

“There’s more,” Connor says.

“Older pack members that have always supported your father? Some are wavering. If Ronan convinces them to back his challenge during the Solstice, we won’t just be outnumbered. We’ll be outmaneuvered.”

I glance back toward Claire and Lizzy.

My mother stands between them like the seasoned socialite she is, graceful and welcoming while distracting the ladies from listening to my side of the conversation.

“I’ll be there within the hour. See what you can get out of them before I arrive.”

Connor grunts and I hang up.

Claire watches me with that look again, that quiet curiosity mingled with long-burning fire.

She doesn’t trust me, and more dangerously, she’s trying to decipher me.

It means she still sees me as a stranger.

I can only hope she doesn’t think there’s something redeemable under these scars.

“I need to go,” I say, stepping back toward her.

Her arms cross.

“Sure. It’s not like anyone is stopping you from leaving on the day of your wedding,” Her tone is sardonic, but something behind it—worry, or maybe something closer to it—crowds her hazel eyes.

I lower my voice as I close the distance.

“Something’s come up. Pack business. I wouldn’t leave unless I had to.”

Lizzy snorts.

“Right. Easy to believe that, Mr. Blackmailer.”

I ignore her.

Claire is still watching me.

Her hand, unconsciously perhaps, moves over the engagement ring on her finger.

I catch the motion.

I allow myself one second of silence with her, long enough to anchor me in what I’m about to do next.

“I’ll be back in time,” I say.

“See you at the altar.”

“Whatever,” she mutters.

I smile, just enough to show teeth, and start for the doors.

At the threshold, I turn to Lizzy.

“Try not to burn the estate down while I’m gone.”

Her smirk is wicked.

“No promises, Alpha-boy.”

Claire doesn’t say anything.

But she meets my gaze.

Bold.

Unafraid.

Maybe I did make the right choice after all.

Because no matter what comes next, whether it’s Ronan’s betrayal or the full moon binding what’s already mine, Claire Douglass is no victim.

She’s a firestorm wrapped in silken skin, standing in the center of this hurricane I’ve helped build with claws and blood.

And I intend to earn her, even if I have to drag every ghost, traitor, and goddamn challenger into the dirt behind me.